Present time
"Mr. Jostyn?" a doctor's voice cut through the groggy haze, dimly Dean realized the doctor was talking to him.
"Yes? Is Jocelyn okay?"
"Yes, she's fine, but I was wondering if you wanted me to call the police."
'Police? Why would he want to call the police?' Dean thought. Suddenly the memories crashed over him, his head felt heavy, his chest felt empty except for the steady beating of his heart, guilt washed over him.
"No." he said finally. "You can ask her if you want, but I think she already knows."
"Sir…"
"Why are you asking me?!" Dean finally exploded.
"Because your wife is catatonic." The man's voice was calm.
"What the hell does the mean? Is it serious?"
"It means she unresponsive to people, she won't talk or eat but she has brainwaves and she can still breathe."
"Is there anything we can do?"
"Just talk to her, have your brother talk to her."
"Fine." He said and stalked away, he could hear Sam's boot steps behind him.
"Sam, you are not going in there."
"What…. Why?"
"Just stay here." The answer came out as a breathy sigh.
Dean walked into the room and saw her, she lay so still on the sterile white sheets with a thin white quilt covering her up to her underarms, her light brown hair fanned out over the white pillow. Large blue eyes looked at the ceiling, they were so empty as he looked into them, broken, he touched her cheek, feeling the soft warmth in his palm, he leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on her smooth forehead. Jocelyn was so childlike as she lay on the bed, her body seemed smaller and more delicate.
"I was too late, too for you and for Sam. I betrayed you but from now I will protect you, I will find the Demon that did this too you and I promise I will kill it. I have to protect you."
Her eyelids didn't even flutter as she lay there. "I'm so sorry." Dean said, tears filling his eyes.
Dean stayed with her for most of the night, holding her hand and talking to her, gently reminding her of her dreams and wishes, telling her stories and laughing quietly, he stayed until dawn broke through the night and split through the breaks in the blinds. Her eyes closed and he could tell that she was sleeping, he watched her for a while longer before leaving the room, he spoke briefly to the doctor and to Bobby and Sam then left the hospital. He needed to be alone for a while, he needed to think without looking at Sam or Jocelyn. He arrived back at the hotel and the familiar anger of arriving late boiled his blood, he couldn't look at the place without being reminded of his arrival the night before.
He got out of the car before he could convince himself not to, he was in the hotel before he could remind himself how horrible it was to be here. Once Dean stepped over the threshold of that room he couldn't control it, calmly he shut the door and dropped the keys to the shaggy stained carpet, the rage that had been building for the last night forced it's way to the forefront and before he could stop himself, he put a hole through the spindly coffee table with his foot, with unnatural strength he picked the table up and threw it against the wall, it splintered and shattered. Next came the quilt, now stained with blood, Jocelyn's blood, he tore the fabric in half, relishing in the sound, pieces fluttered to the ground. A cry of rage poured from his heart erupted from his mouth, he pounded against the wall, punching it until his hand bled and throbbed with pain, red stained his vision as he continued to destroy the hotel room.
When Dean finally came to, he was in his car watching the hotel room that he, his brother and Jocelyn had stayed in burn, Dean could feel the heat and watched the red and orange flames lick the walls. The keys were solid and cool in his bleeding hand but he didn't want to leave until all the evidence of treachery could be burned along with the room. It was time to leave. Time to go back to Jocelyn, time to forgive and forget although Dean knew he never would, never forgive himself, never forget.
When Dean returned to the hospital, Jocelyn was still in the same condition, she still wouldn't speak to anyone, wouldn't eat without help, wouldn't look at anyone. The look in Sam's eyes was more than Dean could bear.
Sam
How could he have done something like this? How could he have hurt his friend? He had no idea, the memories were so fresh in his mind, what really sickened him was that a part of him had enjoyed it. He shivered and tried to shake off the feeling. Dean was coming, Sam lifted his head and looked at his brother, cold emptiness filled those smoky depths.
"Dean?" he asked.
Dean didn't look at him as he spoke. "Anything different?"
"No."
"Get something to eat."
"Are you okay?"
"Fine, now go."
"Yes, sir." He said, reverting to an unnatural obedience.
Dean didn't say anything as he sat down next to him, Sam wasn't sure if Dean really wanted him to go, he didn't want to go, he didn't want to eat or breathe for that matter. Death seemed better than the empty pitying stares and the hollow dead silence that followed him, the screams of pain and anguish that cried inside his head.
"We're gonna get through this." Dean said.
"We always do."
"Just like Dad."
"Or Jess."
"Or Mom." They said at the same time.
"I never really got to know her." Dean said.
"I don't remember a lot, but I do remember that she was the best. She was…. beautiful."
"Yea."
Sam tried to remember a time when he was happy, even when he was with Jess things were…. awkward, like when he always locked the doors and windows even in the middle of summer. She never would have understood.